


What Path Is This, But Our Own?

by KathyRoland



Series: The Paths We Tread [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Chaptered, Dark, Dark Stiles, Fixing Beacon Hills, Gen, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Nemeton, Sacrifice, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyRoland/pseuds/KathyRoland
Summary: To walk the path of power is to be lonely; there are some who never find a companion.  To reach the height of power requires sacrifice; there are some who find they cannot pay it.  To reach the end is to find a bounty; there are some who will only dream of such things.





	1. New Moon

Two men sit in a diner in California.

A waitress comes by to take their orders- coffee and eggs for the older, french toast with a side of bacon for the younger.

They don’t say much, just some general inquiries about travel they each have had. 

Sometimes one hits upon a name or place the other knows or had been to, and the conversation goes into more depth. 

“Is that old bastard still teaching?” Peter leans back, incredulous. 

“Only to those who have payment.” 

“Ha!  His price was too steep for me when I tried more than two decades ago.  Tell me dear Stiles, what price did you pay to earn his knowledge?” 

“I’m afraid he was rather cliched in his tastes- virgin blood shed on the full moon and a wrecked boy the next.” 

“Hmmm.” 

The mage eyes the older man. “Jealous already?  I think you knew you were not to be my first.” 

Peter shakes his head.  “No, I knew that.  Did you get your values worth I wonder?” 

Stiles smiles slowly.  “More than.  He introduced me to the Brownstone Coven.” 

Peter leans forward, all distaste abandoned.  “Did he now?” 

They eat their food slowly.  They enjoy each other’s company, the easy way the conversation flows between them.  The waitress comes and goes a few times and the other diners that were there when they entered had all finished and gone for some time before they start to finish up. 

Finally, the older leans back from his empty plate. 

“Are you living with your father now?” 

Stiles shakes his head.  “No.  I had enough saved up I bought a trailer on the outskirts of the reserve.  Nice and peaceful there.” 

“Are you planning on staying, or will you be traveling again?” 

“I’m done traveling for now.  I have started a garden in fact- literally putting down roots.” 

Peter smiles slowly and stands, leaving some money on the table. 

 “You must show me this garden.” 

Stiles’ eyes echo his laughter as he rises to follow the old wolf out of the diner.  He is suddenly happy once more. 

 

Later that night under the waxing moon, Beacon Hills stirs.  True alpha Scott McCall sleeps fitfully, fidgeting and frowning in his sleep.  He dreams of growing vines holding him down.  He dreams of blood dripping and a throat being slit.  He tosses and turns, his body trying to escape his fevered dreams.  His wife is not in his bed to notice.  

The sheriff of the town sits in a silent dark room slowly drinking his whiskey.  He thinks he feels a slight touch at the back of his neck.  He feels as if he were to reach back, he would find his wife waiting for his embrace.  He doesn’t look behind himself, only stares down at the table and his drink.  He is drunk enough to allow himself to question what she had brought. 

Chris Argent cleans his guns.  He looks at maps and plans a trip away.  Maybe not a trip, maybe a relocation.  He has suddenly had enough of this town.  His daughter may stay here, but he will not.  Finally, he thinks, it is time to move on.  He sends out a few inquiries that night searching for a place to land. 

Alan Deaton does not sleep either.  He ruminates on his broken plans.  He had the power of a true alpha in his grasp, still has it.  He has the ear of a naïve boy who would and will do his bidding.  And yet it is useless.   He thinks of leaving, of conceding.  Grimly, he hardens his resolve.  It’s not his end yet. 

Isaac Lahey and Allison McCall dance in a club, grinding against each other.  There is a group of cells growing within her uterus.  Neither know this and neither would know what to do with such knowledge if they did.  Instead they dance into the night and eventually fall into bed together.  

And deep in the forest, a mage walks with his wolf, circling his territory in a growing spiral.  They are laying the groundwork.  The forest falls silent as they pass, waiting.  A dead tree splits open and a triumphant howl rises over the dark. 

 

Morning dawns.  Stiles enters his childhood home.  The air is stale and stagnant.  So is his father.  His dad has dark circles under his eyes and the whites of his eyes have a tinge of yellow to them.  Father and son hug. 

“How’s the new place?” 

“It’s nice.  Quiet.  I started a garden.  I was thinking of mom’s garden the other day and I thought I should try it to see if I can get some of the enjoyment she had from it.” 

John Stilinski swallows down a lump in his throat.  “That’s nice son.” 

“I never thanked you, you know.” Stiles says abruptly.  

John blinks.  “For what?”  

“For loving me.  For being my guardian hero when I was growing up.” 

John snorts bitterly.  “You and I both know I was more in the bottle than out when you were growing up.” 

Stiles privately thinks that he certainly sees no sign of his father stopping now.  “You and mom gave me the perfect childhood.” 

“Until that ended.”  John abruptly turns around, agitated.  “I always wondered if you knew.” 

“Knew what?” Stiles cocks his head, his eyes studying his father intently. 

The sheriff looks up at the man across from him, then away.  “Nothing son.” 

The clock ticks in the back ground. 

Stiles clears his throat.  “There are times, even now that you don’t look at me.  You refuse to see me.” 

“I see you just fine.”  I see too much, he thinks privately.  John gets up and goes to his keys.  “I have work now.  I’ll see you later.  Feel free to stick around if you want.” 

Stiles smiles bitterly.  “That’s fine.  I need to do some work around my own place.” 

John nodded and offered a strained smile.  “Then let me see you out.” 

They leave the house and linger while John locks up behind them.  The Sheriff turns around and grasps his son’s arm. 

“Hey.”  He stops and looks at his boy.  “Don’t be a stranger.  You live here now.  I want more than a once a month phone call from you.” 

Stiles hugs his dad.  “I love you.” 

His father envelopes him in his arms.  “I love you too, son.” 

The two men get in their respective vehicles and drive off.  

 

Stiles is in his new garden when Peter arrives.  He ignores the man and focuses on breaking open the ground and loosening it so that the new seeds will flourish. 

“Wolfsbane?  Is that a hint, little mage?” 

Stiles smiles and continues his work, not looking up.  “Never know when one might need it.  Even when we do stabilize things here, we will still have the unexpected.  You might thank me for it one day.” 

“Not if that’s what puts in me in the ground.” 

Stiles finally turns to regard the older man.  “You know perfectly well how to transverse the veil.  You’ll only stay down when it suits you.” 

The man smiles darkly at him.  “You and I both know there are ways to make it permanent.  We have each other’s destruction assured if need be.” 

Stiles laughs softly.  “And that makes it all the more fun.” 

Suddenly, Peter moves forward in long strides.  He pulls Stiles up by his shirt collar and studies the man intently.  Stiles lets himself be manhandled up and braces his feet under him. 

Stiles smiles at him.  “Does that get you hot and bothered?  Talking of destroying each other?”  He lays his hands on Peter’s hips gently, teasing in the gentleness he uses and he looks to the older man coyly. 

Peter doesn’t answer.  He grips Stiles’ chin and wretches his head back, baring his throat.  He immediately attacks the exposed skin with his mouth.  Ravenously he worries at it, sucking and biting.  He spreads his scent and saliva over the area, and sucks hard enough for the blood to rise to the surface and bruises start to form. 

Stiles lets out a low groan and closes his eyes.  His hands come up and pull Peter’s body full against his, his fists gripping the man’s shirt behind him as he brings him forward.  He keeps his head tilted back and lets the older man do as he wants. 

The two bodies press together tightly, each thrusting up slightly to get friction.  Growling, Peter shoves into Stiles, bringing them to the ground with Peter on top.  Stiles lays under Peter as his neck is worried at, his back and ass grinding into the dry dirt as the man shoves into him rhythmically.  

He opens his eyes.  “You bastard.” He grinds out.  “You would have a thing for marking.”  He pulls briefly at the man, then gives in and lays still. 

With a final lick to the inflamed skin, Peter raises his head and looks at the mage.  

“Don’t pretend you’re not the same as me.” 

In response, Stiles rakes his hands down Peter’s back, easily ripping through his shirt and leaving the skin parted where his nails have gorged into the skin. “Shall we have some fun, wolf?” He arches up into Peter, rubbing against him wantonly.  He lowers his head and stares straight at the man as he gasps sharply at the sensation. 

Peter thrusts down groaning at the feeling of blood dripping down his back and a warm body primed for him at his front. 

“Yes, let’s.” 

Stiles grins up at the man then abruptly throws him up off the of himself.  Peter lands with a sharply expelled breath several feet away. In a flash, the mage is up and running swiftly away through the forest.  Peter shifts into four legs and fur and ran after the laughing man, leaving his clothes and humanity behind.  He has a mate to catch.  

 

It was just past evening now.  Chris had done enough research after his decision to leave in the past few days and he was ready to go.  He had sent word out and was expected in Montana.  In his wallet, he has a number for an old retired hunter who now sells real estate.  He had written a short email to his daughter informing her of his impending travels, but he was not yet brave enough to tell her it might be a permanent trip.  There was a possibility that it might not work out after all, and he would rather be certain he would be staying gone before saying anything to cause drama. 

“So the little birdie was right.  You are leaving.” 

Chris looks up from where he has been packing his vehicle.  Peter Hale saunters over, smirking at him with his hands in his pockets and body held loosely. 

“Going off to find a new town to ruin?”  Peter looks to the full vehicle considering it before focusing on the hunter. 

Chris slams the trunk shut.  “I have nothing to say to you Hale.  That which was between our families is done now.  My father and my sister are both dead.  You saw to that.” 

“Ah, but is it done?  You are still an Argent.  Your family is a plague.  You bring ruin, here and wherever you’re planning on running off to.”  The man’s words are cruel, but not anything Chris hadn’t said to himself over the years. 

“I’m sorry.”  The words leave Chris abruptly.  “I’m sorry that your family burned alive.  I’m sorry that my sister was a psychopath that saw only monsters.” He looks up at the man squarely.  “But I’m not like that.  My daughter is not like that.”  Internally he winces.  He shouldn’t have brought up Allison. 

Peter laughs mockingly.  “What do you even think the sin was?” 

Chris looks at him nonplused.  His expression is answer enough. 

“Your darling little sister didn’t just rape a child and burn a family alive, you know.  She removed an important chess piece on the board that is Beacon Hills.  She caused instability, of which you are intimately familiar with by now.  Ever wonder why so many different beings attack dear old Beacon Hills?  They’re drawn to the aroma of chaos that this place puts out…  It tastes delicious to a certain type of being.”  He smiles a full smile, drawing back his lips to expose his teeth. 

“Instability like this place can bring the sweetest dessert to feast on.  And there are plenty who love to feast.” Peter’s eyes flash. 

Chris casually rests his hand on his firearm but does not draw it.  He knows the man is trying to get a rise out of him, but he doesn’t know why. 

Peter continues.  “And you know what the best part of that is?  You sister wasn’t even the puppet master.  And no, before you say something, dear old dad wasn’t it either.  But that doesn’t absolve your family.  You still are rodents feasting on the dregs of destruction.  You are a plague.  You infect whatever you touch.”  Peter draws in a deep breath.  “But no matter.  The situation will soon be resolved.” He checks his watch pointedly. 

Chris draws his gun warily.  He knows he get can get off a few shots if the man leaps at him.  “Are you threatening me?” 

Peter laughs mockingly and eyes the firearm.  “No.  I don’t threaten people unless the situation is in my favor.  Can’t a man simply say farewell?  Do think about taking your darling spawn with you.  Who knows what might happen to her if she were left alone by herself out here.” 

Chris raises his gun. “If you touch her-“ He freezes.  Every part of him is frozen.  He struggles to take a breath, move his finger on the trigger, anything. 

“Hey Chris.  Long time no see.”  A figure emerges from the side of the house and walks into his line of sight.  It’s the boy who used to hang around Scott all the time- Stiles. 

“Darling.” Peter greets him smiling. 

Stiles tisks.  “Don’t think I don’t realize when I’m being set up.” 

Peter shrugs, unrepentant.  “It’s already begun.  We might as well feed the youngling- a little extra never hurt.” 

“Yes, and I’m to believe you couldn’t see to it yourself?” 

Black spots are floating in Chris’s eyes.  He can’t even blink. 

“I’d love to see what you’re made of.” Peter purrs as he stalks towards the mage, seeming to completely ignore Chris’ frozen form.  

There is a ringing in Chris Argent’s ears now which almost drowned out the reply.  His brain is struggling with the lack of oxygen. 

“Well then,” Stiles says. “Let’s have a demonstration.” 

Chris’ world goes black.

 


	2. Waxing Moon

Chris wakes up.  Part of him is surprised at this- he had thought he was living his last moments when he was frozen.  He finds that he is bound securely with a material that he can’t quite identify.  Looking at it, it looks like vines or maybe some roots of a tree, but they are soft and not dry. There is dirt clinging to the material that is wrapped around him and it flakes off in parts when he tries to shift.  His bonds move slightly, but not enough to give him any of the room that he needs to move out of the position they have tied him.  Looking around, he knows he is at the grove of the old Nemeton.  What remains of the dead tree is spilt down the middle and from its center a small sapling is growing.  The sapling is only about a foot in height, and looks like it can be easily pulled up but Chris feels an instinctive fear looking at it.  He shivers.  
  
Sitting a little away from his bound form is Peter Hale.  The man seems content to sit and watch, not saying anything.  
  
Chris clears his throat.  “I suppose I’ll be dead shortly?”  
  
Peter grins unpleasantly.  “No, that’s not in the cards for you, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“No, Argent.  Don’t worry- you’ll pay your debt of blood in full in the next few weeks, but you will stay alive.”  
  
“Why am I here?” Chris’ mind flashes back to the young man who had been responsible for incapacitating him.  “What are you doing with Stiles?”  
  
Peter’s grin grew.  “Stiles and I have formed a partnership of sorts.  We will be restoring Beacon Hills to its natural state.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Surely you’re not naïve to think that the way things have been this past decade are usual?  A new monster every week?  A new threat to the clueless people of this town? I’m not opposed to the occasional spilling of blood, but even I can’t get inured to the constant state of chaos here.”  
  
“And what do you plan to do to stop it?”  
  
“What does your hunter lore tell you about the stability of properly claimed territories?”  
  
Chris thinks for a minute bringing the information to the forefront of his mind.  “Claimed?  I know that some creatures say they have a claim on land.  It’s a way to bring up more power.  It’s supposed to be difficult so it doesn’t happen often, but there’s a way to pass that claim to others.”  
  
“Hmm.  So not much, then.”  Peter stands up and stretches slowly.  “Let me enlighten you.  There are some areas that are primed for power. That power is neither good nor evil as you would think of it.  Instead, it shifts and changes to those who harness it.  It can become polluted easily though, which draws more of the sort you’re used to, but it can also become purified.  To purify it, one must interact with it in such a way that they put a “claim” on it.  If that claim is accepted, then they must go through an arduous process that only those with the highest of power and the strictest of wills can achieve.  If the claim succeeds and grows, the territory will stabilize.  This claim can even be passed down, there are many that have lasted through families lasting hundreds of years.”  
  
Peter is pacing at this point as he explains.  He is in full lecture mode and seems to have forgotten who he is talking to.  Chris listens intently.  
  
“But if the heirs are all killed off, driven off, or incapacitated… well.”  He stops and looks at Chris.  “Then the claim disappears.  And the area begins to grow chaotic.  This can be tempered by whatever physical manifestation there was of such a claim,” he pauses and looks to the dead stump. “But if that’s been corrupted, things are only going to get worse.”  He looks and smiles sharply at Chris.  “Or better, if you feed on a certain type of energy.”  
  
“So you and Stiles are trying to make a claim?” Chris prompts him as the silence draws on too long.  
  
“Indeed.”    
  
Chris scoffs.  “Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose?  You never were a hero, Hale.”  
  
The man smiles.  “Oh, there is reward enough in having a claim.  I may not follow the greater good your type likes to pontificate, but I do go where I stand to benefit.  A position of power in claimed land, a chance to direct things, the ability to shape the future and present.  Why not choose this path?”

“And how did Stiles come to be the way he is?  What happened to him?”

Peter looked at him sharply.  “That is none of your business.  If he wants to tell you he will, but I doubt very much he has anything to say to you.”  
  
Chris’ thoughts were speeding as he absorbed the information.  “And where do I come in in this plan of yours?”  
  
“Well such claims require incredible prices.  Sacrifices, some personal and some not.  Don’t worry, you’re not personal.  You’re convenient for Stiles and as for me…”  He trailed off as his eyes flashed at Chris.  “It will start to balance the scales between your line and mine.”  
  
“And how will I be sacrificed?”  
  
“Oh, we’ll keep you alive, as long as your body holds up.  I really do think you’ll survive the process and live to tell about it.  You’re like a cockroach in that respect.”  
  
“And after?  You think I’ll just forget this?”  
  
“No, after you’ll be working for us.  After all, even a stable territory can use a hunter or two and better the one you know then an unknown factor.”  
  
Chris scoffs.  “I may work with Scott when needed, but I’ll never work with you.”  
  
Peter continues to smile at him.  “You won’t have a choice, I’m afraid.”  
  
Before Chris could continue, Peter looked off to the distance listening to something.  “Ah.  Here comes the man of the hour.”  
  
Stiles steps into the clearing carrying a bag over his shoulder.  Now that Chris has the opportunity, he takes the time to study the younger man. He seems taller, somehow, though Chris knows he hasn’t grown since when he last saw the man. He held himself differently, more assured in his bearing.  He moved smoothly, not unlike a predator that Chris had been trained to hunt.  Part of Chris quelled at the idea of challenging him. He wonders what happened to the boy who once ran with Scott, joked with Allison, and always was there to lighten the mood of his group of friends.  Was this Peter’s doing?  Had the man found a way to manipulate Stiles to his own ends?  Or was something else influencing him?  Chris didn’t know.  
  
“Hello, darling.” Peter moves forward to take it from him but was waved off absently.    
  
“Pet names again, Peter?”  The mage doesn’t even look at Chris more than a moment.  He opens the bag and withdraws an inkwell and small brush.    
  
“Of course.  Don’t tell me you don’t like them.”  
  
Stiles scoffs.  He pulls out a rag and approaches Chris’ bound form.  Chris opens his mouth to talk to Stiles, but the younger man swiftly stuffs the rag in his mouth and secures it as a gag.  He pulls out a knife and cuts away the hunter’s shirt and pants swiftly.  Chris flinches away, but the knife is used expertly and no skin is broken.    
  
As his naked skin is exposed to the air, Chris twitches.  He doesn’t like where this is going.  He eyes the younger man in front of him. Continuing to ignore his watchers, the mage starts drawing runes on Chris’ bared flesh.  
  
Chris shivers at the feeling of the ink drying on his skin.  It almost stings going on, and he knows it’s not regular ink.  When it is applied, a burning sensation starts before it cools down into a slight irritation.  It is not overly painful, but it is distracting.  He watches the runes develop on him and tries to parse them, but is ignorant on what most of them are- this wasn’t a branch of study he had often paid attention to.    
  
When the mage is done drawing the runes, he slowly gets up from his crouch and surveys his work.  He turns to Peter who has been watching the whole time.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“You’re the one doing the work.  I’m just observing.”  
  
Stiles hums an acknowledgement.  He concentrates on Chris and suddenly Chris’ body starts to levitate.  Chris looks around widely and starts to struggle, but it’s like invisible strings have latched onto him making him hang from a height, an unwilling puppet being manipulated.  His hovering form is levitated over the small sapling and Stiles nods his approval of the placement.    
  
The mage then turns away and rustles in his bag before withdrawing an old looking blade.  The blade appears to have a bone or ivory handle, which is yellowed with age. The blade is long, and seems to be made from beaten bronze.  Even from a distance, Chris can see the marks that the blacksmith made in forging and shaping the tool  For all it looks old and antiquated, it also looks sharp.  
  
Chris tries one last time to struggle, but the bonds and whatever was holding him up don’t allow him to do more than exhaust himself for nothing.  He is held fast.  
  
With sure steps, Stiles steps up to him.  Still saying nothing to the man, he casually sticks his knife into Chris’ side.  He keeps it in for a few seconds before slowly withdrawing it.  Immediately, blood starts to flow from the wound.  The blood seems to ignore physics as it flows in a single meandering line down his body, curving around the runes on Chris’ skin and landing on a single spot of the small sapling before being absorbed.  There isn’t a single drop that’s landed anywhere else and the flow of blood is much slower than such a wound would warrant.

  
Chris, for his part is grinding his teeth on his gag against the burning pain of the wound.  He’s been shot and felt less pain, he thinks distantly. Slowly, the surge of bright red agony starts to recede and things go back into focus for him.  
  
Stiles stands observing Chris.  Seemingly satisfied, he turns to Peter.  
  
“You still good with keeping watch?”  
  
Peter is eyeing Chris hungrily.  “Of course, sweetling.”  
  
“Good.  I’ll see you in a few hours.”  
  
With that, the young man turns and walks away, taking his bag and gear with him back into the forest.  
  
Chris watches him walk away incredulously.  What was happening here, he wonders in disbelief.  What had happened to the teen he once interacted with?    
  
The wound burns slightly as it continues to bleed, but the pain has died down significantly from what it was at the onset.  He finds himself exhausted, more so than the events should warrant.  He feels as though his very energy is leeching from him slowly with his blood.  It’s disconcerting to be held up by nothing above the ground and to watch his own blood slowly leave his body.  

To distract himself, he looks to Peter.  
  
Peter steps up and smiles at Chris from just inches away as he examines the wound.  “Does it hurt?”  
  
Chris wouldn’t answer if he could.  Peter must be able to read his expression enough for his answer, for he just chuckles and steps back.  
  
“I’d say you’ll get used to it, but that would be a lie.”  
  
He goes back to his place and sits down.  He seems content to watch Chris bleed slowly.  Peter smiles again and his eyes flash mockingly. Beneath Chris, the sapling feeds on the new substance.  
  
   
  
  
Scott is humming quietly as he prepares each exam room.  He loves doing this work, and he loves working for Deaton.  While it’s true that others from his graduating class at university have settled into jobs where they’re using more of their learned skills in a more senior positions, Scott doesn’t mind that he’s doing the same work that he was doing when he worked at Deaton’s when he was in high school.  When his mother was concerned about it, he explained to her that he dealt with enough stress being the true alpha of the territory.  It was nice to sit back and have someone he trusted like Alan Deaton take over some of the hardships.  Besides, he knows that one day Deaton will be retiring, and then he’ll have his fill of work at the vet clinic.    
  
At a quarter to nine, his mentor comes in.  He briefly checks Scott’s work, and pats him on the back in approval.  Scott notices the man seems slightly downbeat, and he has circles under his eyes.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Scott asks tentatively.  He knows his boss can be slightly snappish in the mornings before he gets into the swing of things.  He doesn’t mind, and Dr. Deaton will always apologize if he’s been too curt.  
  
Deaton shakes his head and doesn’t look up from studying his schedule.  “Nothing I can pinpoint.”  
  
Scott turns his full attention to the other vet.  “Should I be worried?”  At this point, he’s almost tired at the prospect of yet another threat to Beacon Hills.  It seems like it never stops.  
  
Deaton looks up.  “Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”  
  
“Nooo…” Scott drags the word out, his thoughts going to a few nights ago.  
  
The older man raises his eyebrow at the answer.  “Something you need to discuss?”  
  
“Well…”  Scott hesitates and blushes.  “I just had really bad dreams a couple of days ago.  But that doesn’t really mean anything, does it?”  
  
“As the true alpha, you have a unique connection to the land, Scott.”  Deaton is settling into lecture mode.  “It’s very possible that such things as bad dreams are a warning for us.  Add to that the various signs pointing to something wrong in town, I would not be so quick to discount them as you are.”

  
Scott both straightens with pride as the topic of his alphahood was brought up and feels chastened for not bringing up the dreams sooner.  He needs to believe in himself more, he knows.  He needs to live up to being a true alpha.  
  
“Perhaps you should speak to your friend, Stiles.  He is back, is he not?”  
  
Scott wrinkles his nose up in confusion as he looked at his mentor.  “Stiles?  Yeah.  Why?”  He shuffles his feet and looks away.  “We’re kind of on the outs right now.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah, remember that harpy that we found out about?  I negotiated with it just like you thought I could.   It agreed to stop killing but Stiles killed it anyway.  He told me that it was just going to go to a different city and continue.  He didn’t listen to me.”  He sighs gustily.  “I can’t trust him anymore.  It’s like he’s changed.”  He shakes his head. “Anyway, what would he know?”  
  
“Word has gotten out that there was a magic user traveling the country not too long ago.  He recently settled down here in Beacon Hills it seems.  His description matches that of your friend.”  
  
“Stiles?  Magic?  Nah, he’s just a regular human, right?”  
  
Deaton smiles at him briefly.  “Of course.  I stand corrected.  Now, I’m going to get started on our first client- Mrs. Helmie is here with her pug again.  Do me a favor and start on the inventory in the surgery?”  
  
“Sure!”  Scott walks to the back, his thoughts mulling over his once friend.

 

   
  
An empty store stands on Beacon Hill’s main street.  The older, sweet real estate agent is smiling at Stiles.    
  
“I think you’ll find the terms of the lease are very generous for a retail property.  It’s been empty for a while and the owner is anxious to have it filled.”  
  
Stiles hummed as he looked around the dusty interior.  “I can see this working.  It’s certainly within my budget and with an online store in addition to this, I don’t think it’s too much of a risk financially.”  
  
He thinks of bookshelves filled with knowledge, of shelves in the back packed with curiosities.  He thinks of customers coming and going and a growing web of influence reaching over beyond the territory of Beacon Hills.  
  
He blinks and thinks of different bookshelves- fiction, poetry, and biographies.  He thinks of a world with no wards at the windows and doors and a world where his neighbors support his business and his business support his town.  He is inexplicably saddened.  
  
“Yes, and I think you’ll find the locals would welcome having a bookstore again.”  The real estate agent breaks him from his thoughts.  “So many still miss the old one that closed down three years ago.  Small towns like this still like alternatives to Walmart shopping after all!”  
  
“How much for the down payment?”  
  
“Let’s see here…” She shuffled through the papers in her folder.  “Ah!  Here it is!”    
  
They settle down at the dusty counter to discuss the numbers.  ‘Stiles Stilinski’, he thinks idly, ‘small business owner.’  He grins to himself.

 

   
  
It’s night, and Peter and Stiles lay entwined on his Stiles bed with the windows open listening to the sounds of the outside world.  
  
“The claim on the land has taken.” Peter is sitting up against the headboard with Stiles laying on his lap.  Idly, his hand treads through Stiles’ hair.  
  
Stiles breathes in deeply.  “Yes.  We have both been accepted.”  
  
“Are you prepared I wonder?”  
  
Stiles blinks up at him.  “Of course.”  
  
“We have some time before the new moon, but it’s best to know these things before we get ahead of ourselves.  It’s going to take a bigger sacrifice than a few bodies.  This one needs to be meaningful.”  
  
Stiles scowls at him.  “I am intimately aware about the nature of the price that such acts ask for.”  
  
“And what price will you be paying, mage?”  
  
Stiles is silent in the dark.  
  
Peter’s lip quirks up in amusement.  “Speaking of, how is your father by the way?”  
  
Stiles immediately surged up and knocks Peter off the bed onto the floor.  He rises from bed regally, the blankets trailing down his naked body as he stalks to the laughing man.  
  
“And you?  What could you sacrifice if you had to? Who or what do you have left, you burnt up old wolf?” He snarls to the older man. “You’re withered and dried up.  Useless and with nothing to show for it!”  
  
Peter wheezed a few more laughs as he watches the enraged mage come closer.  Then he surges up and pushes him back onto the bed with a shove, crawling up to hover over him.  
  
“My, my…” He murmurs trailing his nose over the younger man’s cheek. “Touched a nerve did I?”  
  
With a vicious growl worthy of any wolf, Stiles whips his head up and headbutts Peter breaking his nose and crushing the cartilage.  He quickly flips them over and slams Peter down into the mattress.  As he positions his hands over the wolf’s windpipe and started to squeeze, he feels the man’s hardened erection beneath him.  Peter hasn’t stopped laughing.  
  
Adjusting his position, Stiles reaches with one hand to behind himself to guide Peter and sinks down onto the other man’s erection, their earlier bought of sex making him loose enough that there is only a slight burn from lack of enough lubrication.  He keeps squeezing the man’s windpipe, refusing him air even as he presses down then surges up, setting a brutal pace.  
  
Peter’s face is red when he has had enough and rips Stiles hands from him.  His claws are out and his eyes flash at the younger man on top of him, but he doesn’t move to stop the mage from riding him.    
  
“Ah, I do love you, you know.” Peter gasped out and Stiles continues to rise and fall, their bodies crashing together at the fast pace.  
  
Stiles flashes him a grin.  He rakes his hands down Peter’s chest, drawing blood as the man arches into him.  “Yes I know.  And that’s why you would make a greater sacrifice than any living being in Beacon Hills.”  
  
“And how would you kill me?  Set me on fire again, sweetling?”  Peter claws into Stiles’ arms in response as he bucks up.  
  
“No.  I would rip your entrails from your body and hang you by them.  I would watch you jerk and twitch as your body tries to heal the damage to your gut the same time it’s trying to draw breath.  I would watch your face grow blue and your eyes bulge out, as my gift is accepted.” Stiles is gasping as he narrates, Peter has shifted his grip to the man’s waist and his claws are still out puncturing more of the younger mans skin, causing droplets of blood to mix with the sweat.  Stiles squeezes viciously down at the pain and feels Peter’s release within him even as he climaxes over Peter’s prone body.    
  
The two stay in their positions as they both catch their breath, Peter still within Stiles.  The room smells of blood, sweat, and sex.  
  
Finally Peter speaks as he carelessly wipes the release from his stomach.  “I so look forward to the future, darling.”  
  
In response, Stiles clenches down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read. I love any and all feedback- I've found reading comments and seeing kudos really help me keep writing. That being said, the next week is going to be extremely busy at work, so I doubt I'll be able to get the next chapter out before the weekend. I'll keep at it, but I doubt I'll find much time to myself.


	3. Full Moon

Stiles is staring at the growing tree.  It’s now taller than him and wider that the width of his arm.  It’s growing fast.  The blood donated by the elder Argent is doing it a lot of good.  Still, there’s more that Stiles can do to continue to strengthen the bond he is laying.

He kneels down and starts carving runes on the ground.  Absently, he listens to Peter coming up behind him and watching him work.

He works in silence for some time before Peter speaks.

“The council has reached out.  Your claim has been acknowledged as begun.”

Stiles snorted.  “How kind of the walking dead.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at the mage in response.  “They may not seem to be worth much, but their acknowledgement and support should not be sneered at.”

“And tell me, how has that group of old relics helped out with anything that’s happened to us in the past?  They will sit and watch and pontificate until the sun itself is dead.”

Peter looked at him.  “So you would turn their support away?  Isolate this territory completely?  Even Talia wasn’t that stupid.”

Stiles finds himself silent at the chastisement.  Peter rarely talked about lost family, so he knows that he needs to listen to the other man’s expertise here. 

“Alright.  So they acknowledged us.  That’s something at least.”  He won’t apologize, but the man takes it anyway.

“Indeed.”  Peter switches tracks in the conversation.  “After this full moon, we’ll have three more moons until the challengers come to try to take it from us.  We’ll have to make certain to stabilize this area as quickly as possible and prepare the defenses.”

“The official challengers, you mean.” Stiles frowns as at the thought of the impending creatures coming to take from them what they were bleeding for. 

Peter hums his acknowledgement, his eyes focused on Stiles’ backside as the mage was leaning down to carve out some minute details.

“And the unofficial ones?” Stiles asks.

“Oh, those will likely wait until after the dark moon.  After all, why not let someone else do the heavy lifting before claiming the reward?  After that, though it will be open season, so to speak.”

Stiles works in silence for a few minutes before sitting up and surveying his work.  Satisfied that it was correct, he casually slits open his palm and directs the resulting blood to overlay the runes, burning them deep into the ground.

Peter watches his mate hungrily, eyes intent on his blood.

“What do you get out of this Peter?”  Stiles doesn’t look up as he asks his question.

After a surprised pause, Peter answers.  “I have always sought power.  You will bring enough for me to be satisfied here.”

“You could find such power in other places for less work.”

“Yes, but other places don’t allow me use of your body either.”  Stiles knows without looking that Peter is directing a leer at him. 

Stiles quirks a grin.  “Hmm.  What else?  What drives you to walk with me on this path?”

Peter takes a deep breath and looks out past the clearing.  He doesn’t seem to be talking to Stiles when he answers.  “I will follow my own way.  I will do well at what I do.  You provide me with what I want.  We will have a secure territory.  We will have the fear of those lesser than us.”  He snorts.  “You will listen to me.  You do not shy from doing what must be done.  You are just as ruthless and blood thirsty and sociopathic as I am.  How could I not work with you?”

He looks back to Stiles.

“And you need me, darling.  You cannot trust anyone else to help you in this.  There is no one else who has ties to this place that would support you.  I like that.  I like knowing you have no where else to turn.”

Stiles scoffs.  “You think I couldn’t do this on my own?” He idly turns his knife in his hands

“Oh, you could.  But loneliness can cut deep.  We are all social creatures, despite ourselves.  And I allow you to be yourself.  And at the end of the day, the best thing for this is to have a Hale supporting your claim.  Imagine the strings you would have to pull to have my nephew support you.”

Stiles visibly cringes at the idea. 

“So you will have Hale support on Hale land.  And we will rise together to meet all our challengers.  And when we kill enough to turn the others away, you and I can relax and reap our rewards.”

“Flowery words for a man such as you.”

“Oh, I’m in it for the blood as much as I’m in it for the future.  I’ve not had the gift of stability before.  I feel like I was born fighting to keep what is mine.  Luckily I’ve come to like the fight.”  He looks off into the distance again.  “But I could do with a little less fighting in the future.”

“Well,” Stiles finishes and stands up.  “Let’s see what the future brings then.” 

 

Stiles is walking up to his trailer with his key out to unlock the door.  His wards have already told him that he has an unwelcome visitor.  He wonders what the boy wants with him.

“Stiles!”

Stiles affects a surprised twitch and pivots around.  “Hi Scott.”  He doesn’t hunch his shoulders or look away, but stares Scott down.  He will not be the boy’s toy, even to play a role.

Scott doesn’t meet his gaze for long.  He looks past Stiles’ shoulder then around.  “I umm,” He shuffles his feet and rubs at the back of his neck.  “I see you’ve settled in here.  That’s good man.”  He smiles weakly at Stiles.

Stiles, for his part stares at the boy, considering.  Finally he nods.  “Thanks.”  He falls silent and watches the other, content to let the silence fall.

“So…” Scott clears his throat.  “What have you been up to man?”

“Been moving in here.  Cleaning up the property.  Closing on a lease soon for a bookstore on main street.”

Scott’s face lights up.  “A bookstore?  Neat!  You’ve always liked to read.”  That Scott didn’t like to read, doesn’t need to be said.

Stiles allows an emotionless smile.  “Yes.” 

There’s silence again until Scott needs to break it.  “Look man, can we start over?  I know you didn’t realize was going on with that harpy and all so I, you know, forgive you.”

Stiles narrows his eyes.  “What do you need?”

“Huh?”  Scott has a clueless face down to perfection, and Stiles didn’t think he was trying to be manipulative on purpose.  No, he knows that this was just the way Scott was. 

“Well, you’re willing to pardon my behavior, there must be something that I have that you want if you want to work with me again.”  Stiles keeps his stare focused on the boy.

“Oh!  Well Deaton mentioned that maybe you might know about what’s been happening.”

Stiles narrows his eyes.  So the druid was already trying to pull something.  “What has been happening?”

“Oh, well same as usual, you know?” Scott grinned at Stiles.  “I’ve been having a tough time sleeping, and Deaton seems to think that something bad could be coming this way.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows at Scott.  “You… sleep badly and so something bad is happening?” He drawls out.

Scott flushes.  “I know how it sounds, but I’m a true alpha and all… that means I’m connected to stuff now.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah man, it’s really cool.  Deaton has even started looking into a way for me to be like a ruler or something.  Apparently, the Hales used to rule over everything around here, but since everything happened I need to step in.”

“Ah.”  Stiles wishes he was able to record this.  It was so sad, it straddled the line between pathetic and hilarious.  “And what happens when you’re a ruler?”

“Oh, well more people would have to listen to me, you know?”

“Yes, I get the idea.”

Scott seemed to straighten in pride.  He is full on smiling now.  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.  I can help a lot more people and things.”

Stiles nods. 

“Anyway,” Scott tries to get the conversation back on track from his own meanderings.  “I wanted to know if you know anything at all?”  He visibly strains as he focuses on listening to Stiles’ heartrate, ready to catch him in a lie.

Stiles shakes his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.  “Nah, I haven’t noticed anything unusual.”

“Oh.”  Scott looks around.  “Well, are you up to some researching again?  Lydia is busy getting her doctorate and Dr. Deaton is really busy with our vet clinic- he’s still training me to take on more duties, but I just graduated man…”

“Sorry Scott, I’m pretty overwhelmed myself, with the moving in and getting ready for the bookstore.”

Scotts face falls.  “Ah, well okay then.”  He started to turn back before stopping and looking at Stiles again.  “So we should get together again soon.  I’ve missed you man!”

“Yeah Scott, we should.  We both work downtown now- we should have time to get together!”  Stiles pastes on a fake smile he looks at the other.  He knows he had to play his role enough to keep out of suspicion until everything was done- until his place was secure he couldn’t leave himself vulnerable, even from those such as Scott McCall.  Having Scott’s trust was important, even if needing to play a role to get it was distasteful.

“Definitely!”  Nodding eagerly, the boy waves and goes back to his ridiculous bike to speed off.  Stiles watches him depart, then turns back to his trailer.  

 

Stiles enters the trailer and checks the intravenous lines on Chris’s unconscious body. He still needs to feed the man when he wakes up he knows.  Stiles looks at him critically, cataloguing the man.  The older man had given almost too much blood by now, and his body was struggling to replace it.  He sleeps more than anything else now days.  His skin is pale and waxy.  It is a good thing the full moon is almost here, he thinks.  Otherwise, the man wouldn’t last much longer.

Puttering around his trailer, Stiles starts cooking up a pasta dish on small hotplate.  As the smell of the sauce wafts over to him, Chris starts to shift out of unconsciousness as the older man’s stomach growls hungrily.

Stiles finishes up and plates up a hefty portion.  He turns to see the man blinking blearily at him.  By this point, the hunter barely needs to be restrained.  Between the physical toll that the bleedings have had on the man, and the magical drain of the feedings, the man had seemed to give up his will power in fighting as well.  It is weird to see him so lackluster, but in the end Stiles does not mind the passivity of the man, even if Peter has expressed a yearning for more fight in the man.

Stiles goes over to the prone man and hauls him up to a sitting position against the bed before handing him the bowl.  Silently, Chris starts to eat, staring at nothing in the distance.

When the bowl is half way emptied the older man looks up. 

“How much longer?” He croaks in a rusty voice.

“Full moon is a few days away.  After that, we can bring down the feedings.”

More awareness seeps into him.  “What happens on the full moon?”

“A sacrifice of life.  There’s a group of highschool boys who have been using the woods as their drinking spot.  Three or four of them should suffice.”

Chris' face spasms as he anger builds suddenly.  "What turned you into this?"

Stiles quirked up an eyebrow.  "You never even knew me.  Don't think yourself able to judge what I am."

“The boy I knew would never talk so unmoved about killing others.”

Stiles just looks at him.  “Like I said, you never knew me.”

Chris looks away first.  “Is murdering someone else this price you have to pay for the claim?”

“No.  The full moon is about quantity, not quality.  No, that price…”  The mage trails off and looks into the distance.  “That will be a steep price which I personally will pay.”

Chris tries to think clearly.  “How is it steep?”

“The sacrifice is one of personal lost.  You must pay with yourself to gain something.”  Stiles explains absently.

Chris feels a jolt go through him as his mind connected what the mage was saying.  “You’re not going to kill yourself?  Not for Peter Hale?” He exclaims.

Stiles focuses on him at the question. 

“My, my.” He mockingly mused.  “You have read up on some of this.  In any case, it’s none of your business.”

Chris opens his mouth to press the man, but Stiles makes a sharp gesture and the hunter finds his voice taken away. 

“Now eat up, you’ll need your energy for tonight.  The full moon’s not here yet.” 

 

 

The full moon is shining above the trees, reflecting light to the gathering below. 

 

Blood is dripping and words are intoned.

 

Something old and mighty, new and hungry stretches out its power as the ritual continues. 

 

 

It’s close to five o’clock now.  Stiles has finished warding and cleaning the store.  He’s just doing some last-minute odds and ends.  The full moon had been three days ago and it was a success.  He is close to the end in his and Peter’s endeavor. 

Currently, he is finishing up putting up the notice board and the few things he has to put on it now.  He looks at the missing posters he’s putting up on the board.  They had been easy kills, he thinks.  The boys had been too drugged by their own drinking to put up much of a fight and they bled out quickly.  Now their parents were combing the town looking for any hint of them and putting up the posters.  They would never find the boys’ bodies, Stiles knew.  The bodies had been taken deep into the earth and they would rest beneath the new nemeton until they were completely decomposed. 

The stock was getting shipped to the store, and Stiles had done the proper introductions to all nearby packs and communes.  Word has been getting out and many had been made aware of the shop.  He had already had a few pings of interest, beings who were more curious than anything else.  But the real interest for the store wouldn’t happen until he showed he has what it takes to make the claim.  Then, he expected, more beings will show up than he can handle.  Some will be curious.  Some will be looking for an opportunity.  Some will seek knowledge, others will be seeking power.  Some will even try to take from Stiles what he is forging. 

In the meantime, Stiles is working on his claim.  He is also making nice with the community.  After all, it’s best not to draw the ire of the people who live in the town he is going to protect.  He has introduced himself to all the other business owners in the area, some of which already knew him from his childhood growing up in Beacon Hills.  The others knew his father, and thus were more welcoming to him than they might be to others.  After all, the son of the sheriff couldn’t be much of a suspicious character.

His wards had been successful so far, and as interested as his neighbors have been, none of them seemed to notice anything off about the small little store. 

The shop door’s bell dings as someone came into his place.  Looking up, Stiles smiles at his father.  “Hey dad!  Got off work early?”

His dad stands framed in the doorway to the store.  He looks to his son and smiles.  “Looks like.  Things have been quiet lately.  Mel at the front desk has been pushing me to take more time off, so I thought I’d see how things are doing here.  Need a hand with anything?”

He looks around and wonders what his father sees thanks to his wards.  Is it a bright and cheery shop, with sections devoted to fiction, poetry, and biographies?  He can almost see himself working in such store, chatting with customers, and selling the odd book when one is willing to pay.  He smiles at the thought.  The store as it is will never be used for that.  The walls are shadowed and the bookshelves seem to shift and move about the room if one is not looking at them directly.  If the locals could get in, he thinks, they would likely run from the building screaming.

Stiles looks back to his father, and his smile is slightly strained.  He sometimes wishes he could be the son that his dad thinks he is. 

“Well, I was just finishing up.  Margarette next door asked me to put up a poster or two.  Might help jog someone’s memory.”  Privately, he knows the only reason he’s putting up the poster is for prosperity.  The boys will be remembered in his own way for their contribution.  Also, it will likely make Peter laugh when he sees it.  His mate has a dark sense of humor.

His dad makes an affirming noise and rocks back as he studies the store. 

“Any leads?  Is this something I should get Scott on?”  Stiles asks, probing.

His dad eyes him.  “Are you speaking with him again?”

“Scott?  Yeah.  We’re meeting up for lunch tomorrow.  We always resolve our differences.  Eventually.”

His dad nods.  “Yeah, you do.  What say you we go out to dinner tonight?  My treat.  You must be tired after all the work you’ve put in here.”

Stiles grins cheekily at him.  “Don’t think I’m letting you break your diet!”

His dad groans theatrically.  He turns to lead the way out before stopping and taking one more look around.  He looks back at Stiles. 

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

Stiles swallows down a lump in his throat.  “Thanks dad.”

"Your mother would be just as proud of you if she was here."

Stiles’ smile twists down.  “I know.  She would have loved to see me here.”  He’s silent for a beat.  “Are you ever mad at her dad?”

“For what?”

“For leaving us?”

John blows out a gusty sigh and regards his son.  “Sometimes.  But we both know that no one chooses to be sick like that.  There was nothing she could have done to prevent it.  That also means there was nothing either of us could have done to prevent it.  She fought so hard to stay with us.  She loved you so much.”

Stiles looks away, bitter.  “Yeah.” 

“Hey.”  John reaches out and pulls Stiles towards him by the shoulder.  “You have me.  And you’re going to keep me kid.  For as long as I can stay here.  I’m sorry that I can’t say the same for your mother, but she lives on in you.  You keep her memory alive.”

Even as he is pulled into his dad’s hug, Stiles finds himself trying with all his might not to burst into tears.  He wasn’t the son John thought he saw, and at that moment, Stiles wishes he could be that son.  But as much as he yearns fiercely for that, Stiles knows he is done pretending to fit in.  He tried that route before, he knows it doesn’t work in the long term.  His mother paid a price for his path, and he would match her in the price to finish it.  It was his duty to one parent, and not the other that he would be following.  He relaxes into the hug, soaking it up and storing it away.  He knows the day is fast approaching that he won’t have this.   

 

Scott smiles from the table he’s sitting at when he sees Stiles enter the shop.  He waves over the other man.

“Stiles!” He gets up and exchanges a hug.  “I’m so glad you had time to meet up!”

Stiles smiled at him.  “Yeah man, thanks for inviting me.”

Scott can almost pretend like things are like they used to be.  Scott and Stiles against the world.  Stiles is looking at him and smiling like he’s not any different from the teen he used to be.  Scott can’t help but smile back with as big a grin.

“So how’s the bookstore coming along?”

“It’s good!  I’m getting in the first order of books in a few days.  I’ve got my business license set up, and the store’s finally cleaned and ready. 

“That’s great man!  When’s the opening?”

“Next month.  I want to take everything slow.  Once I get the inventory in, I’ll open the online store.  I’ve already got some interest there.  Then the actual store will open.”

“Ah man!  This is so awesome!”  Scott couldn’t help but enthuse with his friend.

“Just think, you’re going to be a true member of the Beacon Hill business community!  They even got meetings!”

Stiles laughs at Scott’s enthusiasm.  “Yeah? And what goes on in these meetings?”

Scott grins and leans back.  “Gossip mainly.  But they provide free donuts and coffee.  Deaton never wants to go, so I go in his stead.  It’s actually pretty fun!”

“Well, now the two of us will be going together.”

“Yeah man!”  Scott offers up a fist bump which Stiles quickly returned.  Something in Scott relaxes.  Things were going to be okay.

“So tell me about you?  How is Allison doing?”

Scott’s mood starts to dwindle.  “She’s real worried.”

“What?  Why?”  Stiles looks concerned.

“Mr. Argent is missing.  He was supposed to be with some old hunting buddies for a trip, but he never showed up.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, somewhere in Montana.  He left, but we don’t even know if he made it that far.  Allison doesn’t want to contact police in case something...” He looks around to make certain no one in the shop is listening to them, “supernatural is going on.  We put the word out to his buddies in the community to keep their eyes pulled.  One of them is tracing the route he would have taken to see if he can’t find anything.”

Stiles frowns.  “Ah man, I’m sorry.  Is there anything I can do?  How’s Allison holding up?”

“She worried.  Isaac has been around a lot to support her when I’m at work and the two of them have been out following some leads.  Maybe you can see what your dad says.  I know you want to keep him away from the whacky stuff, but maybe he would have some ideas.”

“Sure man.  I’ll talk to him tonight!”

“Thanks!”  Scott’s mood was soured enough that he couldn’t bring himself to finish his sandwich. 

“Hey, you should come around to pack night!  It gets boring with just Allison, Isaac, and me!  You’re always pack if you want to be!”  Scott tries not to look too beseeching at Stiles, but he wants his friend back.

Slowly Stiles nods.  “Yeah, that sounds good.  Let me do a raincheck until after I get the store up and running?”

Scott feels a surge of happiness.  “Yeah man, no problem!”  Impulsively, he stands up and pulls Stiles into another hug.  “I’ve really missed you man.  It’s been hard without you!”

Stiles smiles at him again and pats his back.  “Yeah.  It’s good to be back.” 

 

The Sheriff of Beacon Hills is drinking again.  He’s thinking of the missing students and the missing Chris Argent.  Scott had contacted him about Argent and John had put some feelers out, trying to get a lead.  He will not be surprised if he never has an answer to what happened to the man. 

He may not know the what, but the who…

He thinks back to old books and a conversation he once had with his son in his study.  He thinks back to the little boy looking up at him trying to make sense of the world.

“Did I mess up that badly?”

He thinks to all the parents who won’t believe their kids are guilty of crimes.  He will not be willfully ignorant.  But will he ever act if need be?

There was a boy once he had to arrest.  The boy was 16.  He had lured a six year old girl into the woods and strangled her.  If he hadn’t have been caught, he likely would have lured another girl to meet the same fate.  The evidence against him was concrete and there was nothing his parents could do to refute it.  So they spent their life savings on a lawyer for the boy.  Got him a placement in a psychiatric facility until he turned 18, then release if his doctors agreed.  He remembers how angry he had been, looking at the little girl’s parents and knowing that they would never see justice done to the thing that had taken their daughter away from them.  He remembers vowing to do his hardest so no one would be able to play the system.  He remembers having such surety in doing what he knew was the right thing. 

He stiffly stands up, working out the kinks in his back before going up to the attic where there’s some old dusty tomes stored.  They are relics of his late wife, that he has never looked at after her death.  He knows that Stiles would be interested in anything of his mothers.  Huffing, he hefts the box up and goes downstairs to his office. 

He sits down and opens the box up, revealing yellowed old pages with archaic looking handwriting in an ink that somehow looks like it’s still wet.  There are seven leather bound books, each filled with mysteries.  There is also a small journal, with his wife’s handwriting in it.    

He pulls out the journal.  With blurred eyes, he opens it up and tears out the first page.  He shreds it.  He tears out the next page and shreds that too.  He pulls up a chair and gets ready for a long night of shredding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment.


	4. Waning Moon

Stiles sweeps into the police prescient as a returning prince.  Deputies and office support workers alike come out and greet him, hugs and backslaps abound.  John sits at his desk and he smiles at everyone’s antics.  He knows that so many of the good men and women here watched Stiles grow into the adult he is today- in a way they are all family here.

Elen, the oldest deputy of the bunch starts in on him for not finding a girl and settling down.  Stiles handles it well and jokes it off, saying nothing of the older Hale John knows he’s seeing.  The sheriff frowns at the thought of how many masks his son wears.

After the good natured ribbing is finished, Stiles moves into his father’s office and closes the door behind him.

“And what good fortune is bringing my son to visit me?” The sheriff drawls as he pointedly puts the paperwork he was finishing in a secured drawer and locking it.

Stiles watches him and grins, holding his hands up.  “No worries, not here to snoop.”

He sprawls in the chair and looks up at this father.  “Scott is concerned.  Allison’s father is missing.”

John keeps a blank face.  “Since when?”

“Don’t know.  He left for a trip and hasn’t been heard of since.”

The sheriff steeples his hands and observes his son.

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t know.”  Stiles shrugs loosely.  “I think if he’s missing, bad things might be coming.”

John looks soberly at his son.

“What’s with the face?”  Stiles inquires.

“You think I don’t see you, who you are Stiles.  But I do.  And I love you.  But you need to stop.”

“What?”

“I love you, but I took this badge with an oath.  To protect everyone, not just you.”

For a few moments, Stiles stares woodenly at his father.

“And what does that mean?”

John observes his son.  Beneath his desk, his legs are shaking.

“I can’t be blind forever.”

Stiles looks away first.

“I know.”

The clock ticks in the background.

“Could you stop?”  The words are pleading without John meaning them to be.

Stiles just looks at his father.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to?”

Stiles looks away as he mutters, “We all have our paths to tread.”

“Dammit Stiles!” John burst out, “Don’t quote flowery bullshit at me.”

“I choose this.”

“People are dead Stiles.  Do you even care?”

“Of course I care.  I’m still the son you raised!”

“I certainly didn’t raise you to be like this!”

“No, you were too busy drinking!  After mom, I would have given anything for you to guide me.  But you weren’t there!  So I guided myself.  And now you have no right in judging who I am!”

“You are the one making these choices Stiles- I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, but at the end of the day, you are the one who chooses to act the way you are.  You must take responsibility, and don’t you dare blame it on me or a bad childhood!”

“I do take responsibility!  But you are the last person on this earth to lecture me about that!”

“I am your dad!”

“Only when you want to be!”

“If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be talking about this behind a closed door.  I’m sacrificing everything here for you- can’t you see that?”

Stiles looks at him brokenly.  “I see that.”

“And you’re going to keep asking for me to sacrifice more and more.”

“Yes.” 

“And you’ll never stop.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and blinks back his tears to look as his father.  “No.  I choose this.  I will take responsibility for my actions.  This is what I choose.”

“And me?”

Stiles looks away again.  The office falls into silence.

“I’m sick of death, Stiles.”  John didn’t think that he could break more than he has already, but in yet another thing, he is being proven wrong.

Stiles swallows hollowly.

“I know.” His voice cracks. 

“If you choose to murder people, and I don’t care for what, you will bear up the responsibility.  And I will bear responsibility for allowing you.  I’ve spent so many years looking away, but I’m looking at you now.”

Stiles has nothing to say.

“I love you son.  But I don’t love what you’re doing.  I don’t love that you’re not stopping.”

Stiles can’t look at his father.

“So is this the tipping point?” He asks his dad, “Is this when you draw the line and say no more or else?”

John leans back, pained.  “Stiles, I’ve always been a weak man.  I’m asking you to stop.  Stop this madness.”

Stiles finally looks up.  “No.”

John looks at his son and nods once. 

“Is this the part where you tell me to get out of your life?”

“No son.  I love you, and I will always love you.  Just understand what it is that you’re sacrificing here.  If you choose this path…”  He spreads his hands helplessly.  “I won’t be here.”

“Will you stop me?”

John looks away this time.  “No.  God help me but no.  This is my sacrifice.”  He laughs hollowly.  “This is now my path apparently.”  He takes off his badge and looks at it in his hand.

Stiles is crying silently.  “I wish…”

John looks at his only son sternly.  “You choose this.  You will live with this.”

“I know.”  Stiles composes himself.  He breathes deeply and schools his face.  “I love you too dad.”

John’s face shows his bitterness at the statement. 

Outside, the workers go about their business at the precinct. 

 

 

Stiles is laying against the solid form of Peter in what he is starting to think of as their clearing.  The new nemeton has grown into a large tree, the trunk large and solid with branches reaching out to provide shade for the two lounging below.

Stiles is inclined against his mate with his eyes closed as Peter threads his fingers through his hair, gently petting.  Bird song is in the distance, though no animal has been to the clearing since they started some weeks ago.

Despite the peacefulness, there is a heaviness to the air that Stiles is breathing.  He can feel the invisible pull of the dark moon coming.  He knows that in a few days, everything will be completed, one way or the other.  His talk with his father is playing and replaying in his mind.  It hurts to know that he won’t have the man for long, and it is going to end like it is now.

“Do you ever stop and think how you got here?” Stiles breaks the silence.

“I try not to dwell on the past.” Peter doesn’t open his eyes whiles he answers.

Stiles sighs deeply before admitting, “I wonder if I’m doing this for myself or for someone else sometimes.”  He thinks of walks and secrets, plans and paths.  Which path and plan is his and which is his late mothers, he wonders.

“Do you ever think of why you do this?” Stiles questions his lover.

Solemnly Peter looks at him and offers, “I know why I do.  I also know why you do it.  Do you want me to tell you?”

Stiles ignores the question.  “You care about me.”

“Yes I do.  Does that make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“But you know that one day, that might not be enough.  There might be reason enough for me to end your little life and take better riches.”

“I know that.  But I also know you don’t want that.”  Stiles grumbles.

“We don’t always get what we want darling.”

“You’re dreary today.  Not too long ago you were telling me how much we benefit eachother.”  Stiles slouches further into him.

“Hmm.  The power’s drawing nearer.  The heaviness is impacting everyone.”  Peter gently pulls at Stiles’ hair.

“We’re almost done.”

“Tell me, what is your cost?”  Blue eyes look down at the young spark.  “You’ve been quiet on that.  It’s making me nervous, darling.”

“Chris asked if it would be me.”

“Would you kill yourself for me, dear heart?”

“If I needed to.  I would kill you for me too.”

“Mmm.”  Peter closes his eyes and smiles. 

They sit in silence for some minutes until Stiles yawns widely. 

Peter smiles down at the younger man, his eyes soft as he looks at him.  “Sleep.  I will keep watch.”

Stiles obeys and drifts off into slumber.

 

 

Chris is laying silent in the bed that’s he’s grown accustomed to.  He no longer works at his restraints or even speaks much.  Instead, he watches the young spark approach with nothing more than exhausted ambivalence. 

“Dark moon is tomorrow.”  Stiles peers down at the man, looking for a reaction.

Chris says nothing, just watches the mage.

“I’d apologize for what I’m about to do, but it would be just words.  Despite my father’s recent attempts, I will do what must be done.  That includes you.”  He looks away.  “I don’t even know why I’m trying to talk with you.”

Finally Chris speaks.  “Are you going to kill me now?”

“No.  I’m going to take away your will.  After tonight, you won’t remember any of this.  Your life will be mine to direct completely.”

Chris shudders. 

Stiles quirks a smile at a reaction finally.  “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a good life.  You’ll hunt what needs to be hunted and save who needs to be saved.  You’ll restore some small part on honor on your own line.  Maybe enough that any spawn of your daughter will grow up without the darkness hanging over them.”

Chris’ eyes flash at the mention of Allison, but he says nothing.

Stiles turns his back to the older man and starts to gather supplies to measure them out.  The ritual will be relatively short and won’t require much in the way of power, but it doesn’t hurt to slow down to ensure accuracy.

The man will wake up in a few days with nothing more than a memory of a particularly hard hunt in Nevada.  He will apologize for worrying people, and he will settle back in to his life.  No one, save Peter and Stiles will know anything is amiss.  Stiles thinks of his father before he can push his thoughts away.  Now’s not the time for such thoughts.  Now is the time to tie up all the loose ends before the ritual is completed.

 

 

It’s nighttime in the McCall-Argent household.  Scott is away patrolling and looking for her father. 

Allison is sitting on a toilet, looking at a pregnancy test in her hands.  She sniffles.  This isn’t what was supposed to happen.  Now, more than ever, she wants her father with her.

She takes out her cellphone and dials a number that she knows by heart.  It’s picked up fairly quickly.

“I’m pregnant.”  She listens to the response.

“Of course it’s yours!” She exclaims angrily. “What are we going to do?”

She listens as she continues looking at the pregnancy test.

“… Yeah.  Okay.”

She hangs up and leaves the bathroom with the test in her hand.  She has a go bag packed already.  Plans are being drawn up in her mind as the future unfolds.  She is done with this life.

 

 

Deaton is resisting the urge to pace.  His pawn is due back any minute now.  The boy is worried about the old hunter being gone, but Deaton couldn’t care less.  It is simply one less danger to him, one more reason he can relax once his plans come to fruition. 

The bell to the clinic chimes as someone comes in.  He looks up, expecting it to be Scott, but it’s not.

Stiles steps in confidently, then closes and locks the door behind himself.

“Mr. Stilinkski.  What do I owe the pleasure?  Scott’s not here right now.”

The mage smiles darkly.  “I know.  I’m not here for him.”

Deaton starts to step back.

The druid knows this isn’t going to end well.  His plans are about to be ruined.  All he can hope is at least one of his contingences will come to fruition, that at least one thing goes right so that not everything is in vain.

He finds his limbs are unable to respond to him.  He cannot move away as the mage approaches.

“I wonder, Druid,” Stiles bites out.  “How quickly you deserve to die.  I rather think this will be a slow death, don’t you?”

Deaton just looks at the man.  He knows he doesn’t have any power here anymore.

With slow, deliberate steps, Stiles circles the man.  “Have you ever wondered how long you can survive without your skin?”

Deaton flinches.

A dark chuckle fills the room.  “Don’t worry, I’ll start small.  Not even with your skin.  Fingernails, perhaps?  That seems to be a staple in any movie I watch…”

The building is soundproof, so no one will hear the screams from within.  Stiles will ensure that no blood is left on the premises after he’s done, either.

By morning, the vet will have his office closed unexpectedly.  Clients will wonder what happened to him, but none will know he’s simply food for the scavengers out in the woods.

 

 

It’s in the deep dark of night.  The new moon, the dark moon is tomorrow. Peter is sitting against the nemeton with his eyes closed.  He wonders what will happen during the final ritual.  

He thinks of prices, sacrifices, and doing what must be done.  He remembers the look in his mother’s eyes when she realized he was going to watch her bleed out.  He smiles.  Some things do come in full circle, he thinks. 

He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out.  He is content with his life now, he suddenly realizes.  He is content with his mate’s path.  He will not fight tomorrow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than usual wait. Only one more chapter to go. Life is leaving little inspiration for writing lately, so I would really love some feedback on the chapter please.


	5. The Dark Sacrifice

The night is dark.  There is no moon overhead.  Even the sliver that would be out is gone this night, as the air thickens in anticipation.  A mage and his wolf walk through the forest to a new Nemeton.  

The older man walks with loose steps, willingly following the mage ahead of him.  Their hands are clasped between them, fingers entwined and palms connected. 

Peter speaks, “I find myself looking forward to the end of tonight.  I dare say,” he drawls with a smirk and a squeeze of his hand, “that my breath will be stolen away.” 

Stiles looks back and flashes him a smile.  “You don’t do well with surprises, do you?” 

“Oh, is it a surprise?” Peter replies archly. 

“Come, lover-mine.” Is the mage’s only answer, gently mocking with his pet name.  

Peter can breathe in the magic gathering in air.  It is a sacred time, a time he has never been a part of. 

That he is now, that he can feel the very magic of the sacred Nemeton, seems to be a prize unlike he’s ever had in his hands before this.  All his previous dreams and machinations seem silly and inconsequential now- this is true power, and this is his true path.  If nothing else, this is what he lived for, what he fought for his whole life. 

They arrive at the clearing.  Stiles leads them to the base of the tree before gently pulling Peter forward and pushing him against the trunk of the tree.  Peter, for his part, stays loose limbed and allows Stiles to situate him.  

Crowding his body against the wolf’s, Stiles speaks.  “Do you commit to this path?” 

“I do.” 

“Good.”  The mage slowly pulls Peter’s shirt off, over his head with a grin.  He takes a moment to take in the look of the shirtless man in front of him.  

“I love you so goddamn much.” 

“And I, you.” Peter vows.  Peter keeps his arms at his sides, his hands unclenched.  He is the passive participant in this higher magic.  He spoke truly when he said he was committed to this. 

The mage leans in and licks a strip up Peter’s neck in response.  Peter simply lets his head fall back, exposing his neck in submission. 

Stiles applies suction, imprinting marks on the man’s neck that heal as soon as they appear.  He laves the skin and mouths gently, with some nips interspersed.  A steady ember is being lit between the two bodies.  

Moving lower, Stiles mouths down Peter’s neck to his chest, paying attention to the man’s nipples.  He mouths each one, one at a time switching between them as he reaches below them and palms Peter’s growing erection and starts slowly rubbing it with the heel of his hand.  

Peter starts thrusting lazily up into his hand as his attention is split between his nipples and groin.  His hands splay out against the Nemeton’s trunk, claws coming out and digging in as he uses his will power not to shove his lovers head down to his growing erection.  He is unused to the gentleness of sex, preferring things to be bright hot and fast with his lovers. 

As soon as Peter starts to thrust into Stiles’ hand, Stiles withdraws his grip on the erection and merely runs his fingers over the fabric covering it lightly, teasing him. 

Stiles spends some minutes mouthing and marking Peter’s chest before moving back up to the other side of his neck and gently placing his lips against the pulse point. 

Peter groans out in frustration and jerks his hips up pointedly.  

“You’re going the wrong direction, my own.” He remarks. 

Stiles chuckles in response against his neck, causing goose bumps to form.  Stiles rubs gently at Peter’s groin teasingly once more before withdrawing the friction.  

“Powerful magic is all about the buildup, you know this.” He murmurs against Peter’s neck. 

Peter rolls his eyes.  “And how much build up should I expect this night?” 

The mage pulls away with a smile to look at him in the eye.  “Much.  This night is all about sacrifice, after all.” 

Peter just looks at him, disgruntled.  “I was expecting a different sacrifice.” 

“Hmm.  And we will have that.”  Stiles pauses a few beats before resuming.  

“Just later.”  With that, the mage licks another stripe up his neck and nibbles at his chin. 

Peter expels a breath and fights the urge to release his grip on the Nemeton to shove his lover where he wants him. 

“I take it quickly is not in tonight’s vocabulary?” 

Stiles outright laughs.  “Nope!” 

He noses up to Peter’s earlobe before gently putting it between his teeth and pulling down. 

Peter’s hips jerk again, but can’t find proper friction in his lover’s hand.  It will be a long night. 

 

Stiles has been working on Peter for almost an hour now.  Both of them have discarded their clothes in the clearing for better access of bodies.  The wolf has a sheen of sweat across his bared skin and he can’t stop thrusting into the air.  A steady pool of precum has accumulated throughout the hour as his erection is alternatively teased then ignored.  Peter is awash in pleasure and hopeless energy waiting to be released.  Twice this night, he came close to cumming, and those were the only times Stiles used pain, sharply tugging his balls down as the pain stopped his orgasm from starting before going back to the gentle torture he was inflicting on Peter. 

Now, Peter is splay out against the ground, his body bared in the darkness as his lover slowly thrust his tongue in and out of his ass, eating him out.  Filthy groans rose in the clearing as Peter feels his sanity feel stretched to the limit with the frustration of denied completion in him. 

Stiles licks one last broad strip across his lover’s rim before crawling up and engaging a in a thorough and detailed kiss, his tongue once again mapping Peter’s mouth even as him body was carefully held above the others to deny him the slightest bit of friction. 

Both men are panting when Stiles breaks the kiss and sits up.  Slowly he stands and stretches languidly as Peter watches hungrily from the ground.  Stiles arms raise toward the sky with fingers splayed as he slowly extends his body out, flaunting it in front of Peter. 

He reaches a hand down in offering, which Peter grasps and allows himself to be pulled up.  Peter is surprised when Stiles abruptly grasps him and shoves his body into place, switching their positions and pulling Peter forward, leaving Stiles crowded up against the Nemeton with Peter bracketing him in. 

Peter raises an eyebrow in silent question. 

“I think you’ve built up enough for several rounds by now, yes?” Stiles askes archly with a grin. 

Peter groans and shoves his body forward into the mages, grinding down heavily and seeking denied friction. 

Stiles moves his own hands above his head, wrists crossed and looks to Peter. 

Obeying the silent instructions, Peter grabs with wrists with one hand as he crowds against the mage, waiting to be unleashed. 

His other hand goes to cradle Stiles windpipe before pressing down slightly. 

With a wild gleam in his eye, Peter growls out, “Are you done playing with me tonight? Is it now my turn little one?” 

Stiles allows himself to lean into the grip at his throat, close to cutting off his air and his eyes flutter shut briefly. 

“Make me hurt.  Make me bleed, wolf.” 

“Gladly.”  Peter shifts into his beta-form as his eyes glow in the darkness as he prepares to feast on his lover.  

With no gentleness, the wolf slams the mage around so he’s facing the tree and shoves his feet apart.  Pinning the man to the tree, he shoves one clawed finger into his channel, then another and thrusts a few times tearing into the delicate skin within and starting a thin trail of blood winding down his leg.  He doesn’t wait long before withdrawing his claws and lining up his erection before shoving in. 

The blood does not make an effective lubricant as it grows sticky and thick, but the wolf keeps thrusting wildly into the smaller man.  Growling, he bites down at the bared neck and jerks up once, twice, three times more before spilling his release into him.  

The mage groans against the Nemeton’s trunk as he keeps his body passive to be used by Peter. 

Huffing a breath against his lover’s neck, Peter starts rocking once more without withdrawing from Stiles as his erection starts filling once more. 

“How many times do I owe you for tonight?” 

Stiles groans, part in pain and part in pleasure.  “Many.” 

Peter smiles as he shoves Stiles’ head to the side to bear the other side of his neck as he digs his fangs in to create a symmetrical set of wounds.  If he survives this night, the mage will be wearing the scars of

Peter’s fangs for the rest of his life, for all to see. 

The magic continues to grow at a sharp rate as the violent coupling continues.  The ritual is about to reach its peak. 

 

Scott grumbles slightly as he kicks another tree branch in his path.  The night is too dark for him to see well, even with his supernaturally increased eyesight.  The stupid woods are silent as well and Scott just wants to be home with his wife Allison.  

But that’s why he’s out here again this night.  

Deaton had told him that he had something to tell him.  He had told Scott that his research had found something, but by the time Scott had made his way to the clinic, the druid was gone.  Scott had then come home to an empty house with no Allison to be found.  Panicking, he had gone to Stiles, but his friend was gone as well.  In desperation, he had looked for Isaac, but couldn’t find that man either.  So Scott was alone.  But he knows that he can stop whatever is happening, he can save his family and his pack.  

He’s just not used to working without a little help from others. 

Suddenly, he perks up.  He hears something happening up ahead.  A fight?  Was whatever was causing the noise the thing causing all the problems? 

He charges ahead and enters a clearing.  He blinks as his mind tries to make sense of what he’s seeing- it’s Peter Hale, violently thrusting into Stiles as he pins the smaller man against the tree.  Stiles is crying and yelling in pain as he’s raped by the monster.  

Roaring, Scott sprints forward, intent on rescuing his friend.  After this, Scott will make certain that Peter Hale never hurts anyone like this again! 

Startled, Peter turns just in time to meet his flying leap as the two of them go down in a whirl of claws and fangs.  Peter is wily and experienced, but Scott has youth, speed, and surprise on his side.  He quickly has the man bloodied on the ground. 

Scott pauses briefly.  He wants to kill the man for what he’s done, but he knows he can’t.  That’s not what being a true alpha is about.  He’ll have the run off the older wolf and make certain that he never returns, he has to- 

Stiles walks calmly up behind him and snaps his neck.  As the young wolf’s body falls gracelessly down, it’s swallowed into the ground immediately as the Nameton shifts and wavers and seems to grow even bigger before returning to the size that it was at the start of the night.  A pulse of magic booms out, a sacrifice found and accepted. 

Peter blinks startled at Stiles.  He opens his mouth, then closes it, before once again opening to speak incredulously. 

“You didn’t even like that foolish boy!  How was he the necessary sacrifice?!” 

Stiles simply offers his hand and hauls the wolf up to a standing position. 

“It was never about Scott, but what he represented.” He explained. “A chance at normalness.” 

Peter just looks at him in silent demand for a further answer, so Stiles continues. 

“With his death, I am now unhooked from any normal life I could have had.  With him, I could have been someone.  I would have had a place in the community.  But I choose to cut off that path.  With this magic, my sacrifice has been accepted.  For the rest of the town, this world, I will simply have never existed.  Beings who travel here will know there’s a guardian for the Nemeton, and they can talk to me and see me if we are in the same room, but as soon as they look away they will lose all memory of such thing.  I will be simply a legend, a folk tale to tell at night to your friends.  I will walk the rest of my life with no connection other than yourself and the Nemeton.  I am now no-one.” 

Stiles looks away.  “The sacrifice was myself.  But the totem for that sacrifice was a path that Scott represented.  I could have stayed his friend, followed his path and entered his pack.  I could have manipulated him to do what I wanted and kept some identity of my own in this town.  I could have tried to be the son my father wanted, and the son my mother raised at the same time.  But that path is now closed to me.  This is what I choose.” 

Peter has nothing to say to that.  

The stand in silence for a few minutes before Peter shifts and works out some of the soreness in his body that resulted from the unexpected fight.  He looks to the mage and questions, “So it’s done?” 

“Done and sealed.” 

“Hmm.  Then I think you owe me a few more orgasms, don’t you?” 

The mage smiles bright and happy and the grief is momentarily lifted from his eyes.  “We don’t have to stay here anymore tonight.  So, you’ll have to catch me first.”  With that, he takes off, a naked figure running swiftly and silently through the trees, with his wolf following. 

 

 

In the years and decades that follow, Beacon Hills does well for itself as a small town.  People are happy and content.  The danger that they were once so used to is non-existent now.  No longer are they afraid to go out in the dark of the night. 

As such, the police department at long last finds it can scale back its staff to more befitting of a small town.  This is good, as their last Sheriff had finally taken the retirement that everyone urged him to get and moved off to forget the small town that holds all his memories of his late wife.  He moves up north to another small town and he enjoys his retirement from stress, and slowly his grief at losing his other half, his wife fades into the background. 

There is a bookstore, an odd-looking shop on main street.  No local ever goes in it, and none find that odd.  At odd hours of the day and night, peculiar visitors come into the small town for the sole propose of visiting the shop.  They stay for a few hours before moving on.  Locals grow used to letting their eyes pass by the strangeness that might come with the visitors. 

At night, a man and a wolf run through the forest.  They are lovers and mates, and they live for each other.  The balance has been restored and the territory is stronger than ever before.  One day they will be legends worldwide.  For now, they are happy with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. I hope you've enjoyed it. If you're interested, you can find me at http://insert-blurb-here.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you liked this, please consider leaving some feedback. I'd love to hear what you think about it.


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